Well I concur in fur, prefer the flying spur to petty tight per
Persian rug burns, the yearns to make funds turn
Crib in the city one in the suburbs
When chilly really the gloves work
My artillery make a thug smirk, pull a snub first with the thirst
Burst on the right arm perch, trying earn the purse to purchase the earth
Work and serve been ? since my son's birth
The Thunderbird come with the skirt
Not to be tampered with, bitch kiss the hand of the philanthropist
My private dancer drank Panther Piss
I rock the tan Stan Smiths
Wearing amethyst and dance with my Spanish bitch
She tryna land a man that's rich, doing splits
The rooms moonlit, I crooned in the unit
Therapeutic, my muse through a tulip
Juicy deep rooted, the prostitutes are recruited
Pea-pod suited

(From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable, unfold the scroll)x4